Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts

Thursday, March 3, 2016

Winter in Eastern Wyoming

Abandoned farmhouse and cows north of Manville, Wyoming. January 2016/
(Click images to view larger)

In January, before classes and teaching started again, I drove from Laramie to Eastern Wyoming, spending the night in Lusk, where my friend, Doug Scambler, works for a couple of days every other week as a child psychologist, before circling back home via Guernsey the next morning. Doug generously shared his hotel room and the inside information that Lusk: population 1,567, has a pizza place, called The Pizza Place, with perhaps the best pizza in Wyoming, thanks to its pizza-savvy owners, transplants from Chicago.

I started the trip in early morning light, driving first through Sybille Canyon and then to Wheatland for less superlative food--a fast food burger--before heading north and then east to photograph the small towns of Shawnee, Lost Springs, and Manville along Highway 18. I arrived in Lusk with a little time to spare before meeting Doug for dinner.

Ten miles to the east, a dark cloud of smoke billowed up from the prairie, so I drove out to investigate. The smoke originated from a ranch, recently purchased by a rancher who, with his son, stopped to talk with me while I took some pictures (none great) of the evening light streaming through the smoke. His family had been in the area for generations, but he had purchased this place recently and was burning brush and old piles of junk that the previous owner had left behind he told me, shaking his head.

The conversation circled around to all of the abandoned farms in that part of Wyoming and the hardscrabble history of the place. He recommended a book called “TheChildren’s Blizzard,” about a sudden prairie storm in 1888 that killed hundreds of children trying to get home from school. I related my experience of seeing the impact of the flu of 1918 memorialized in rural cemeteries across Wyoming. He told me that during that flu, his grandmother had walked with his mother to a neighbor’s house to check on her, afraid to go in for fear of germs but shouting through to the open window to ask if she was alright. The neighbor replied that she was fine, but her child was dead. It’s hard to imagine that life could be so raw and desperate just 100 years ago, though I know that people today have their own struggles.

Chance encounters on road trips are often the most memorable and interesting, and I’m often surprised by how willing locals are to tell stories to strangers passing through. If I weren't such an introvert, I'd spend more time trying to seek out these encounters. Instead, I take pictures of places where there are very few people.

Old boxcars south of Bosler, Wyoming, with the Laramie Range in the background.

Piles of dirt along the Union Pacific Railroad.

Fallow field, Sybille Canyon.

Shawnee, Wyoming: Established in 1887 and now nearly abandoned.

Lost Springs!

The Lost Bar in Lost Springs.

Lost Springs, settled in the 1880s and named for a spring that nobody could find was originally a railroad town with 200 residents.  In the 2010 census, it's population was 4 (Wikipedia).

Classic architecture in Lusk, Wyoming.

Lusk is named for a cattleman named Frank Lusk, who established a ranch in the area in 1880 when Colorado got too crowded for him. He had contemplated moving farther east in Colorado towards the Nebraska line, but on an earlier trip had been impressed with the people living in Wyoming, so he decided to go there instead (Wikipedia). 

A shed in Lusk. A catastrophic flood damaged Lusk in June 2015, and perhaps is responsible for this end of the shed being bowed in.

Flood damage, Lusk.

Flood damage and bathtub rings, Lusk.

House and barns, Jay Em, Wyoming

Jay Em was originally a watering hole along the Texas Trail, and the town was established between 1912 and 1915 to support ranchers in the area. It's named after a ranch called the J Rolling M, owned by Jim Moore and established in the late 1800s (Wikipedia).

Garage, Jay Em.

Railyard, Guernsey, Wyoming.










Saturday, January 25, 2014

Ephemeral towns around Wyoming's Great Divide Basin

The view east from Bairoil, Wyoming.  
(Click images to view larger)

Through history people have lived around the margins of endorheic basins.  Some are filled with water, like the Aral Sea in Central Asia, while others are seas of dunes, like the Tarim Basin in Western China, once an obstacle that split the Silk Road into two routes to avoid the Taklimakan Desert (rough English translation:  If you go in, you won't come out), that occupies its interior.  The Taklimakan is so dry that natural mummies, so well preserved despite their 3000+ years that you can look into their faces and imagine them alive, sometimes emerge from the sand.  Some have red hair and blue eyes, immigrants to China from Europe. 

Tuyuguo, a still-occupied town on the margin of the Taklimakan Desert.

Endorheic is a technical term that describes places with no external drainage—rain that falls in these basins doesn’t find its way to the ocean, instead evaporating in place or seeping into groundwater.  Death Valley, famously hot and below sea level is endorheic.   

Wyoming’s Great Divide Basin (GDB), another endorheic basin, is not so well known or so well protected, and many people don’t know that the Continental Divide splits around it after descending from the Wind River Mountains to its north.  In all, it occupies about 3,900 square miles of mostly BLM land, with significant areas owned by ranchers, leased by energy companies, or occupied eccentrically (or creepily if that’s a word) by a handful of desert dwellers. 

Were it not for energy extraction, there would be little reason for most people to live near this harsh place.  It shares Wyoming’s howling wind and frigid winter with the rest of the State, but none of its spectacular mountains, though the Ferris, Green, and Wind River ranges are visible from within.  Around the margins are ephemeral towns that come and go with the fickle energy market:  Wamsutter, Lamont, Bairoil, and Jeffrey City.  A few larger and more permanent towns occupy sites along the Union Pacific Railroad to the basin's south:  Rawlins and Rock Springs are the largest.

I’ve photographed in and around the GDB for years, usually drawn to abandoned houses in the interior or wild horses that live there, or to desert places like the Honeycomb Buttes, but in January Ed Sherline and I left Laramie to have a look at some of these towns, each with its own character, and all temporary.  I doubt that any have the staying power of China’s Silk Road towns, still present all of these thousands of years after they were established. 

Jeffrey City is perhaps the most “famous” of the GDB towns among ghost town aficionados and in the boom-bust history of the West, though it isn’t truly a ghost town;  50-100 people still live here. In summer, cross-country cyclists stop for a meal and a place to sleep after pedaling across this particularly empty stretch of Wyoming.  In winter, snow drifts into abandoned townhouses and dormitories built to house workers during the uranium boom in the late 1970s.  A church, a bar, and a potter's shop are still used, but most other businesses as well as a modern brick building housing and Olympic-sized swimming pool are closed up tight.  

Bachelor Apartment #2.  Jeffrey City, Wyoming.
   
 Named “Home on the Range” by its first homesteaders in the 1930s, the town was renamed in the late 1950s for C.W. Jeffrey, a Rawlins doctor who financed a plan to extract uranium from nearby deposits to fuel nuclear power plants.  Jeffrey City boomed until the nuclear power industry suddenly declined after the Three Mile Island meltdown in 1979.  In fact, the decline was breathtaking.  95% of Jeffrey City’s residents left in a two-year period.  The story is fascinating, and I won’t reproduce it here, but if you’re interested, an Idaho researcher named Michael Amundson published an engaging and comprehensive history that can be accessed online (pdf).

Ed and I skirted the eastern and northern margins of the GDB on a snowy, grey, windy day, stopping in Lamont and Bairoil before finding a campsite at the little-used Jeffrey City landfill in Crook's Gap, chosen not for aesthetics, but because it occupies a drainage perpendicular to the prevailing wind.  We woke before dawn, made coffee, packed our frozen and unwashed dinner dishes, and headed back north to photograph Jeffrey City in the dawn light.  Then, like many before us we drove away.

Grandma's Cafe (then "Anelope" [spelling correct] Cafe), Lamont.  

Trailer, Lamont, Wyoming.

Trailer, Lamont.

Well pipe, Bairoil, Wyoming

International truck.  Bairoil.

Truck interior, Bairoil.

International truck door.  Bairoil.

Baptist Church.  Jeffrey City, Wyoming.

Hair, Etc.  Jeffrey City Quonset hut.

Green Mountain Bus Lines.  Jeffrey City.

Volkswagen with no volks.  Jeffrey City.

Trailer and town homes.  Jeffrey City.

Not town home.  Jeffrey City.

GMC truck interior.  Jeffrey City.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Dirt Piles, Sticks, and Snow


Dirt piles, sticks, and snow, Laramie.
(Click images to view larger)

For me, there comes a time every winter, usually not long before we head south for spring break, that everything having to do with winter starts to feel bleak and uninspiring.  I'm not depressed, just no longer especially interested in white landscapes and cold, colorless expanses, or wind.   

Photographically, I get into a rut and don't get out much until the first bit of spring color starts to lift my creative spirits--often with obligatory pictures of early-blooming pasque flowers, of which I have many.  

In the spirit of late winter photography, I went out this morning and photographed:  piles of dirt covered with snow.  Believe it or not, I've been eyeing these dirt piles for at least a couple of YEARS.  They are near the interstate highway, and I see them frequently as I drive hither and yon.  One especially tall pile is decorated with sticks and conduit, a curiosity.  The way these objects poke out of the top of the dirt pile has always evoked for me tall prayer flags that I saw once near the Mekong River in China (see picture below), or a mountain summit adorned with some country's flag.  I can imagine young climbers struggling to the top of this pile of dirt to triumphantly plant some electrical conduit.   

Maybe there's a universal instinct to poke sticks into places that are tall.  

Plant with dirt.

Dirt, snow, and dead plants.

Dirt piles and pointy apartments.

Dirt with rocks and snow.

Tall pile with sticks and conduit

Sticks in dirt, Laramie.

Prayer flags in dirt, Yunnan Province.


Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Snow at last!


A road in the Laramie Basin on Monday morning, before last night's storm.
(Click images to view larger)

I never thought I would be so glad to see some snow!  Ironically, for someone who's lived in Laramie for 25 years, I prefer the warm months, but this year has been ridiculous.  First, it stopped snowing at the end of February, which is unheard of.  Then, aside from a few early season storms in a sea of unusually warm weather, it didn't start snowing again until last night, when 4 or 5 inches fell in town.  Hopefully a lot more fell on the ski trails at Happy Jack, which is why I'm so glad to see it.  It's the holidays, and Nordic skiing is one of the great reasons to stay here for them, but just a couple of weeks ago I was still riding my mountain bike up there.  

There's more warm weather in the forecast after it dips to near or below zero tonight, but not enough to melt the base this time, and I'm hoping that we'll be skiing soon.  Happy Holidays!

Bei and Ellen earlier this month in the (slightly) Snowy Range, looking for a Christmas tree.

A snowy fence this morning on 1st Street.

Downtown Laramie this morning, at about 11 degrees.

A runner on the railroad footbridge.

What we were doing last year at this time.




Wednesday, February 22, 2012

A Wee Blow

Blowing snow makes the high tension wires sing south of Laramie.  
(Click to make bigger)

It's a wee bit windy here in Laramie this morning, as it is wont to be.  It's common to see 60+ mph winds in the forecast and recorded on the gauges, especially up at Vedauwoo east of town or at Arlington west of here, but 70 mph is rare and 80 mph gets everyone talking.  It was windy yesterday, and it got worse last night.  The REALLY high wind isn't supposed to blow in until later today.  The roads have been closed for over 2 days, which means no newspapers (they come from Cheyenne I think) and a dwindling supply of dairy products at our local Safeway store, which has a hard time managing their stock even when the roads are open.  

Meanwhile, I see on Facebook, that my friend Sam Lightner, who is in famously windy Patagonia on a climbing trip, is reporting that he "can't believe how calm it is today...there isn't even a baby farting out there."  He should just come to Laramie and attempt to reach the summit of the Nautilus.  It might be impossible without a compressor and a drill (climber make joke).

Laramie is nestled among "superb" wind resources, depending on your point of view.

Trucks waiting for the road to open at the Petro Truck Stop in West Laramie (2009 photo).

Monday, February 13, 2012

Snow!

My daughter, Bei, waiting for her Dad to take a picture so we can go see the damn movie! (not her words)
(Click to make larger)

Laramie enjoyed a lovely and unexpected snowstorm last night.  The forecast called for an inch, but we had a solid 6" in our yard this morning, and it's still filtering out of a grey sky, though we aren't supposed to get much more today.  It was also a storm without wind, at least in town, which in case you don't live here, is highly unusual.  Bei and I went to see Hugo last night at the Wyo, where tickets on Sunday night are $3.  Hard to beat that.  It started dumping just as we left the house, so I grabbed my camera, cranked the ISO to 1600, and took a few photos.  I'd hoped to get the classic Wyo Theater with a long line of moviegoers in front, but alas, we were a few minutes too early and I decided to cease my torture of Bei after taking a couple of her in the theater lights.  

I took a couple of winter photos on Saturday out in the Laramie Basin, before this most recent snow dump.  It's stark out there in the winter, but beautiful when it is whitewashed.

Fence, Herrick Lane, Laramie Basin.

Snow fence, Herrick Lane, Laramie Basin